


The Corner of Fifth and Amistad

by Sascha (greenet)



Series: Gambit and Courier [1]
Category: Gambit - the Nicieza era (comics), The Avengers (2012), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men Origins: Wolverine (2009)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Road Trips, angsty, sort of schmoopy?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:30:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenet/pseuds/Sascha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did Gambit escape Stryker's prison anyway? Possibly he had a little help. Say from a certain shapeshifting courier?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Tieleen who looked this over many, many times over the year and a half I spent writing it (yes, I know, it's sad). And to Cosmic who is the reason I finally finished it. 
> 
> This is movieverse based, so I've taken the liberty of messing around with Gambit's background. Should probably warn for both anachronisms and Author Totally Did Her Research on Wikipedia.

**Three Mile Island, August 1978**

There was just the hum of the electric lights, the shuffling of boots on the cement floor and the occasional clink of keys on a keychain as the guards walked the length of the room. Nobody spoke.

Remy sat on the floor of his cell with his back against the bed, eyes closed. Soon there would be a shift change, and the next shift’s guards were assholes in a more active way than the current ones. It wasn’t a question of better or worse, really. He resented the way he didn’t register as a person to some of the guards, true. But a lot of the time he preferred being ignored to being noticed, because sometimes being noticed was much worse. He used to enjoy being the center of attention, but not so much anymore. Being noticed here meant pain. 

Not that he could do much about it either way. 

He opened his eyes again at the sound of laughter. He watched the shift take place, disinterested, watching just because there wasn’t much else to look at. There were other prisoners held in the facility, Remy had seen them, but in this part of the building, it was just him. Once he’d figured out they were on six hour shifts, he mostly used the shift changes as a way of keeping track of time. He’d given up looking for weaknesses in it because there weren’t any. The shift changes were always boring, a regimented and dull routine.

This day was different.

One moment his regular guards had been their asshole selves as usual, joking and bullshitting, and a second later, fuckhead #1 had stunned and possibly killed the other three before opening Remy's cage, grabbing Remy’s arm and pulling him to his feet, dragging him along down the corridor, holding tightly to his wrist, while Remy did his best to not to trip over his own feet. 

"Who are you?" He managed to ask when they paused for a moment. He kept his voice low, just in case this was genuine, and not just yet another way of fucking with his head. “What are you doing?”

"Just the messenger," the guy said absently, shoving him up against the wall and keeping a hand on his shoulder while he waited for people to pass. He was tall, big nosed and skinny, with dirty blond hair in a buzz cut, like nearly all the guards had. "Now, shut up until we're out of here." There was something wrong with his voice, but Remy wasn’t sure what it was. It was just. Off somehow.

Before Remy would have yelled, protested, kicked up a fuss and demanded to know what was going on, but after two years stuck in this fucking hellhole, he didn't have the energy. He stumbled along after the guard, wondering what kind of trick this was. Stryker didn't usually play mind games like this, but Remy wouldn't be surprised if he started. It seemed in character for the sadistic bastard. 

They walked through miles of corridors Remy had never seen before, the guard occasionally manhandling Remy whenever he felt the need. Remy got shoved up against a lot of walls and doors in the process. He didn’t protest. He nearly fell down an obviously disused staircase at one point, but he managed to grab hold of the railing, arm sliding over the jagged metal before he could get a proper hold. The entire railing looked like someone had taken a hacksaw to it in places. 

Sometimes out of the corner of his eye, he saw other prisoners shuffling along, escorted by guards of their own. This could still be a trick, but Remy felt a tiny pinprick of hope that maybe it wasn’t. That maybe he’d get out of this place. Up until now he’d expected a body bag to be the only way he’d get out. 

It had been a while since he’d had the energy to fight what was happening to him. He remembered yelling and throwing punches and struggling, but it was oddly far away. He remembered it happening, but he couldn’t bring up how it felt. He knew he’d been angry, he knew he’d been afraid. He could still think, now, but he knew his ability to draw conclusions and put things together had been dulled by the imprisonment, just as much as his capability to feel had. 

He didn’t feel much of anything anymore. Everything was muted. There was a wall between him and what he remembered feeling, and he wasn’t sure if it was the drugs’ fault, or if it was just him. Lately, he’d mostly been sleeping. It was a good way to avoid thinking about things he couldn’t change.

The guard pulled him roughly into an open area where he was hustled into a waiting helicopter, and then, after landing in a clearing, into a car where the guard threw a shopping bag into his lap and ordered him to change. It was just a thin gray sweater, a pair of jeans, underwear and black socks, but it was all clean and it was not white, so Remy didn’t protest. 

The guard ignored him completely during the drive. 

He understood the reason for the clothes change when the car stopped in the parking lot of one of the airport hotels. The guard’s uniform might raise some eyebrows, but he’d be able to pass relatively unnoticed. The white, hospital-like clothes Remy had been wearing would definitely have caused some alarm however. As it was, he faded into the background. He waited quietly while the guard got them a room, and then shrank away when they got into the elevator. 

The guard made faces to himself in the mirrored walls of the elevator. 

Remy had no idea what to think about that, so he ignored it. He knew, _he knew_ that he should be looking for weaknesses, for ways to escape, and he was trying, but he was so tired, and focusing on anything at all was difficult. 

Patient, he told himself. You have to be patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from a misheard lyrics version of The Fray's You Found Me, because I'm exactly that cliched.


	2. Chapter 2

The guy who came out of the bathroom was definitely not the same guy who'd gone in. This guy was young, about Remy's own age, with dark hair and blue eyes, and he was, there was no other word for it, pretty. He was also an inch or so shorter. Remy was leaning heavily against the writing desk in an attempt to keep from falling over, and found himself automatically tensing and charging the hotel pen he had picked up and had been absently playing with. The guy looked in his direction, then stopped, eyes wide and hands raised. "Still just the messenger!"

Remy hesitated. "...What?" 

"I'm a shapeshifter, that's how I could get you out," he explained, lowering his hands. “Actually, it’s not quite what I am, but it’s close enough.”

"Shapeshifter... You're a mutant?" Remy asked, before shaking his head. Of course he was. This was easier to believe than the guard having a sudden change of heart and deciding to rescue Remy after months of not giving a shit. "Why? I don't know you. Why did you come for me?"

"I told you, I'm a messenger. Well, courier, really. You're the package." 

Remy watched the guy - the courier - walk over to the desk and rummage through the hotel advertisements, muttering to himself as he did so. 

"Where are you taking me then?" he asked finally, not really expecting a reply. _And to who?_ He wasn’t that special. Sure, he could blow shit up, but he’d come to realize that there were a surprising amount of people out there who could do the same. Stryker couldn’t possibly have managed to catch all of them? There had to be easier ways to find someone like him. Ways that didn’t involve pissing off the US military.

"Where do you want to go?" He turned around, holding a flyer for a pizza place. "How does pizza sound? You look like you need to eat. Actually..." he trailed off, and Remy got the impression that his current state was taken in for the first time. He wanted to snort, but didn't. Pathetic, weak, bruised still, and his powers... The pen probably wouldn't even have hurt the courier. And he was still so fucking tired. Remy wanted to look away but knew from experience that it was better to see it coming. Whatever it was.

He didn’t deal well with surprises anymore.

"My name is Jake," the courier said, which was about the last thing Remy had expected. "I..." He looked uncertain for the first time. "Do you need a doctor?"

"No!" Remy protested immediately. He probably did but the thought of someone else touching him right now was enough to turn his stomach. And a doctor... No. He’d probably developed a lifelong phobia of white coats. White coats and military uniforms. He suppressed a shudder.

"Okay," Jake said. He looked dubious. "It would suck if I got you out of that place only for you to die on me, though."

"Won't. I'm resistant, me."

Jake looked even more dubious. “I’m pretty sure I won’t get paid if you die now. I like getting paid.” 

Remy just shook his head.

After scrutinizing him a moment longer, Jake sighed. “Okay, don’t take this the wrong way, but you need to strip. If not a doctor, it’ll have to be me. I’m warning you right now that I’m probably the worst not-a-doctor ever, but even I can see that you’re bleeding from here, and I can definitely slap on some band-aids.” 

Bleeding? Remy looked down himself in surprise, and realised that, yes, he was. The wounds couldn’t be deep, he would have felt that, he would have seen it when he was changing, but the legs of his pants were bloody and there were spots of blood on his left arm. He pushed the sleeve up to reveal the long, shallow rip going up his forearm. It was already scabbing over, but it probably ought to be cleaned. He looked back up. “I can do it myself,” he said as firmly as he dared. This could still be a trick, but if it wasn’t, starting by pissing off his rescuer was a bad idea.

Pissing off Stryker wasn’t a good idea either, but Remy didn’t have much to lose there.

Jake raised his eyebrows at him. Remy didn’t back down, and Jake nodded. “Okay, but let me see your back first.” Remy could do that, and did, wincing a little as he pulled his shirt up. He felt Jake coming closer. “Looks fine,” Jake said. “I want to dunk you in a shower, but to be honest, you look ready to fall over, so that’s aiming a little high.” 

Quickly pulling his shirt back down, Remy turned. “I’ll wash,” he promised. He could manage that. Probably. He started getting up, only to be stopped by Jake holding a hand out. “What?”

“You stay there, I’ll get you stuff.” 

The courier went into the bathroom and came back out with a washcloth and two towels along with two glasses, both filled with water. He placed all of it on the bedside table next to Remy. Then he dug through his suitcase and came up with a small first aid pack. “I don’t need it myself, of course, but I like being prepared,” he explained. He came over to give it to Remy instead of tossing it, which Remy could tell had been his first impulse. “I’ll leave you to it, and. Um. How does pizza sound?”

“Like heaven,” Remy said, not joking nearly as much as he’d managed to sound like. 

Jake grinned anyway. “Pizza it is then.” He hesitated. “Don’t run off, okay? You wouldn’t get far, and I’ve already rescued you once, I’d hate to have to do it again right away.”

“I won’t,” he promised. 

If Remy thought he had any chance of even _walking_ further than to the door, he would have been long gone by the time Jake came back. Promise or no promise. As it was, he could barely manage to clean himself up. Even just that had exhausted him.

“Oh good, you haven’t jumped out the bathroom window,” Jake said, putting down a pizza box on the table. He was holding a shopping bag as well, which explained why he’d gone out. “I thought that was possibility.”

“And you still left me?” 

“I didn’t think you’d get very far.” Jake gave him an amused look and Remy couldn’t deny it. “You look. Cleaner.”

Remy nodded. “I feel a bit better.” 

“Good.” Jake nodded, then changed the topic. “So I hope you’re fine with soda.”

Remy was fine with anything as long as it wasn’t drugged. Jake probably wouldn’t drink anything drugged himself though, he reasoned, watching him pour the coke into the drinking glasses.

*

Remy didn't fall asleep as much as pass out after the pizza. He woke up to the sound of Jake the courier speaking on the phone. He lay still with his eyes closed, listening.

"...Still alive, which is good, I guess. Hey, I wasn't hired to--no, I-- Okay. Okay, yes, I will." Jake sounded annoyed as he hung up. "So I guess I'm stuck with you," he said to himself. "Fantastic."

Remy remained still, breathing like he was still asleep, even as he felt Jake’s gaze on him. He almost didn’t hear the muttered “could be worse”. 

* 

"Remy. Remy!" 

Remy woke with a gasp, and his hands around Jake's throat. He jerked them back, eyes wide. Jake stumbled backwards, reaching up to rub his throat, watching Remy with equally wide eyes. 

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't," Remy said quickly, before Jake could react. "I didn't mean to."

"I just wanted to wake you up," Jake said. He didn't move. "You were screaming."

"I was?" Remy fought the instinct to curl up in a ball. For one thing, it never did any good, for another, Jake didn't seem angry yet, just stunned. No need to provoke him further. Best to just lie still. 

"Yeah," Jake nodded. "Bad dream?"

"Bad memory," Remy said shortly. 

Jake rubbed his throat again. "Want to talk about it?" 

"Non," Remy said forcefully enough to make Jake take a step back. Or maybe that was the eyes. Remy couldn't always tell when they changed, but this felt like one of those times. He really needed to calm down.

This was confirmed when Jake stepped closer again, fascinated, and apparently distracted away from asking any more about bad memories. "Your eyes... Can I?" He reached out towards Remy's face and Remy made himself keep still and meet Jake's eyes. "I've never seen eyes like yours before."

"Not many have."

"I supposed not." Jake kept staring. And then Remy jerked his head back in shock, because Jake's eyes were changing until Remy's own red on black irises were looking back at him. Jake lowered his hand, looking pleased. "Thank you." Jake blinked and then his eyes were blue again. 

"You took my eyes," Remy accused, feeling slightly ridiculous. 

"You still have yours," Jake replied, taking a step back from the bed, looking amused. "But I guess you can say that I can borrow them now."

Remy had no idea what he felt about that. He was pretty sure he didn't like it.

*

The first couple of days he mostly slept and ate whatever Jake brought him. It didn’t feel safe, not anywhere near, but he was too exhausted and hurt to force himself to stay awake. 

As far as Remy could tell, Jake never came within arms reach after the first time, though he woke Remy out of nightmares three more times. Twice by yelling, once by throwing a pillow at him. Remy was pathetically grateful. The nightmares were always the same - he was back with Stryker, being experimented on as they tried to steal his powers. It hadn’t always been physically painful. The doctors were practical enough to knock him out unless they somehow deemed it necessary for him to be awake during. The disorientation when he woke up hadn’t always been preferable.

Sometimes he thought the physical pain had been the easiest to deal with. Not having any idea what was going on, not having any say in what was happening to him, not being able to say no _because nobody listened to him anyway_ , being locked up, being alone... That had been much more difficult to deal with. He’d even tried striking up conversations with the guards at one point. 

It hadn’t led to conversations, exactly, but they’d dealt him in on a couple of poker games, until he won too much. He’d known it was stupid even as he were doing it, but it had been one small way of getting back at them for everything else, and he hadn’t been able to resist. After that, they’d mostly just yelled at him. It was a pathetic state of affairs when having abuse yelled at him was preferable to the silent treatment. At least they noticed he was there when they were yelling. But then that had passed as well, and he’d been back to being ignored. 

He’d never liked being helpless. Even when he’d been a kid, he’d refused to be dependent on anybody else. Not that there had been too many people signing up to take care of an orphan with the devil’s eyes. 

Not that he felt sorry for himself. Not over that. Not any more. 

It wasn’t like he’d been the only one overlooked for adoption. He wasn’t even the only one who’d run away before he was twelve. Up until Stryker grabbed him and started experimenting on him, Remy’s life had been _fine_. 

* 

"You cheat!" Jake stared down at the cards like they'd betrayed him personally by being an awful, awful hand. 

"Do not," Remy said smugly. Not when he didn't have to, anyway. And he would be more inclined to cheat in Jake’s favour if he were to cheat at all. He did learn from his mistakes, after all. 

Jake sighed and pushed the cards towards Remy. "I liked it much better when we played trivia games."

"Yah, because you won," Remy pointed out. Jake’s knowledge of obscure and useless facts was astounding. 

Jake smirked, then shrugged. "Well, yeah." 

Remy shuffled the cards again. It was an automatic motion, leaving him free to think. He was getting better, stronger. So far Jake had been affably courteous, but Remy wasn't stupid enough to take him at face value. Especially not since he wasn't even sure this _was_ Jake's face. He needed to be ready to react, to fight and run when he had to. 

"Go fish?" Jake said hopefully, watching Remy's hands. 

Jake hadn’t told him not to run again after the first day. Maybe he figured he didn’t need to. Probably not, since Remy had mostly been passed out. 

Once he started staying awake and aware for a decent length of time - that is, longer than it took to finish whatever takeaway Jake had brought him and go to the bathroom - and Jake had noticed, Jake had brightened up and brought him board games and playing cards. Apparently he’d been very, very bored. Remy got the impression that he wasn’t used to sitting still over long periods of time.

“Blackjack?” Remy suggested, shuffling the cards. 

“Ah, but which of us would be the dealer?” 

Remy attempted a look of wounded innocence. It needed some work, judging by the way Jake snorted at him. 

The snort turned into a frown of concentration. “There’s always... I think I’ve got a backgammon set here somewhere.” 

He reluctantly folded the cards up in a neat stack and placed them on the table. Jake gave the stack an absent look. “Oh, you can keep those if you want.” 

Remy pocketed the cards immediately. They weren’t much of a weapon, but they were something, at least.

*

“What are you watching?” 

Jake jumped a little. He glanced towards the tv and then over at Remy. “Sorry, did I wake you?” 

“No,” Remy shook his head, and covered his mouth as he yawned. “No, it’s fine.” 

“I don’t know what I’m watching. It’s some kind of cop show.” Jake squinted at the tv. “You have any idea?”

“Been in a cage for the last couple of years,” Remy reminded him. He rolled out of bed and shuffled over to the couch, a little wary, but Jake just shifted, making room, apparently still trying to figure out what he was watching. He curled up on the couch, making care not to jostle Jake.

“Starsky and Hutch!” Jake announced triumphantly, badly startling Remy. “Oh hey, sorry,” he added, reaching out to keep him on the couch, which just made Remy flinch away. 

He’d been dozing, still half-asleep, and he wanted to curl away protectively until he woke up properly. Jake hadn’t done anything to hurt him yet, but Remy didn’t want to be defenseless if he tried. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to do much, but at least he’d know he’d fought back.

"You can't possibly still be afraid of me," Jake said, exasperated, when he caught Remy's instinctive flinch. "Nobody is, ever." 

Instead of protesting that he wasn't scared, Remy said, "must be handy when you kill them. They don't see it coming."

Jake looked genuinely startled, but Remy had already realised that Jake's face showed exactly what he wanted it to. It was Jake's unwillingness to gamble that made him, ironically enough, lose so many card games to Remy, not his poker face. "I don't kill. I'm not an assassin, I'm a courier. I told you."

"The guards at... The guards," Remy pointed out. He wasn't likely to forget anything about that day any time soon. 

"Knocked out," Jake said. "They should be alive, unless they have an allergic reaction to the sedation I used, I guess."

Remy wasn't sure he believed that. He wasn't sure he wanted to. "Should have killed them, then."

"...There's just no winning with you, is there?" 

Remy shrugged. 

Jake huffed, folding his arms over his chest, sinking into the couch again. “All right, fine, whatever.” 

“...You’re insulted because I think you’re dangerous?” Remy didn’t even know how to begin dealing with that. 

“People usually like me.” Jake pouted at the tv. “I’m a very likable person.”

“I like you fine,” Remy said. Jake _was_ likable, it was true. That didn’t change anything. Being likable made him more dangerous, not less.

“Except you still think I’ll hurt you.”

“There’s an easy way for you to change that,” Remy pointed out. He rubbed his palms against his knees. 

Jake gave him a sideways glance. 

“Don’t.” He swallowed. He felt stupid even saying it. What difference was it going to make? None, that’s what.

Jake raised his eyebrows at that, then snorted and nodded. “Yeah, fair enough.” 

*

A stack of newspapers arrived every morning. Remy hadn’t been in any condition to read at the start, but after two days of sleeping, he was getting a little curious. Of the date, if nothing else. 

Jake was grimacing at _Le Monde Diplomatique_ and on his second cup of coffee. He probably wouldn’t notice if Remy grabbed his discarded _New York Times_. Remy snatched it up and retreated to his bed before glancing at the front. August 1978. So he was right about the two years. He felt about a decade older, though. Or more. 

“The pope is dead,” he said blankly.

“Mmhm. Again,” Jake nodded. 

“What?” 

“Yeah, the old guy died, and then the new guy died as well -- which, frankly, would have worried me if I were in charge of picking popes, wrath of god and all -- and so now they’re picking another one.” Jake gestured with his cup. “It’s apparently a big deal.” 

Remy blinked. “Yes,” he agreed.

“Wait, are you Catholic?” 

“Yes.”

Jake squinted at him. “You don’t look like I’ve just been really offensive,” he said suspiciously. 

“No. I mean, no, you weren’t.” 

“Hm.” Jake stared at him some more, sipping his coffee. “Look, should I... Hm. I’ve read your dossier--”

“I have a dossier?”

“Yeah, of course. But it didn’t say exactly how long you’ve been at--”

“Two years,” Remy cut him off before he could go into more detail. Repression was-- okay, repression wasn’t working at all, but that didn’t mean he wanted to talk about it. 

Jake looked strangely horrified a moment, then he blinked and nodded. “Right, so, do you want me to catch you up on events? Who won the Stanley Cup? That sort of thing?”

“The Stanley Cup?”

“Hockey. Philistine,” Jake added. 

“Hockey’s not that big in New Orleans,” Remy said dryly. Jake made a face at him. Remy ducked his head to hide a smile. “But, yeah, sure. Who won the Stanley Cup?”

Jake sighed. “The Canadiens. We don’t like them. They are terrible people.” 

“Not your team, I take it?” 

Jake gave him a look of ‘you must be joking’. 

“I’m sure the win-- wins?” Jake nodded. “Wins were complete flukes and...” Remy waited. Jake looked amused, but supplied “Bruins” even though he obviously realized Remy was fishing. “Bruins, yes, thank you, the Bruins are going to win next. As they should.” 

“Damn right,” Jake agreed, laughing. 

“I do have a question, though,” Remy said after a moment of peering at a very vague news item. 

“Yeah?”

“President Jimmy Carter, really?”

Jake grinned. He got up from his chair to pour himself his third cup of coffee. “Yeah, that one surprised most people. Oh, and we have a new FBI Director. Haven’t met him yet, so can’t tell you what he’s like.” 

Remy raised his eyebrows at him. 

“Courier.” Jake shrugged. He folded his arms over his chest, carefully holding his cup pressed against his shoulder. “I’m usually moving papers around, not people. You’re, like, the third. Oh, and California just approved Prop 13.” 

Remy blinked. 

“Nearly 60% slash in property tax revenues,” Jake explained. He sighed. “Which you don’t care about. Um.” He sipped his coffee while frowning in thought. “ _The Deer Hunter_ won the Oscar this year, and _Annie Hall_ won last year. I liked _Annie Hall_ , you should watch that one if you get the chance. Don’t remember who won in ‘76, but _All the President’s Men_ was robbed. Have you seen it? It was great.”

“Last movie I saw was something about a motorcycle gang,” Remy said dryly. “It was fun, but I don’t think it was Oscar material. Not sure what it was called. Something Angels, I think.” 

Jake looked blank. 

“Never mind. Go on.” 

“All right. Um. What do you want to know about?” 

Everything. He wanted to know everything he’d missed. But that probably wasn’t a helpful answer. He cast around for something to ask about. “Who won the Super Bowl?”

Jake brightened. “Dallas Cowboys! They played at the Louisiana Superdome, by the way.” He put his cup down. “But the Patriots are going to go big this season, I know it.”

“...Let me guess; You’re a Celtics fan too?” 

Jake looked utterly unrepentant. “They’re the best, yes.” 

Remy tried to suppress a grin and failed. “Are you supposed to be telling me this?”

Jake shrugged a shoulder and quirked an eyebrow at him. “Dad won’t like it, but he didn’t say I couldn’t. Besides, I’m going to be spending at least another week with you, and trust me, you’d figure out I was from Boston sooner or later just from me talking.”

“You could be lying,” Remy pointed out. He didn’t think Jake was lying. But.

“I could be, yeah.” Jake smirked at him. “But do you think you’re important enough for me to bother?”

Remy shook his head. No, he didn’t have any illusions there. Obviously somebody wanted him for something, but he believed Jake when he said he was just the messenger in this situation.

“Yeah, so, believe me when I say that my love for the Bruins is as true and everlasting as my hatred for the Canadiens.” 

*

This was the first time he'd seen Jake sleeping. He assumed that the other man must have at some point, probably while Remy was conveniently passed out as well. Jake looked even younger like this. Remy found himself wondering how old he actually was.

Jake turned his head a little, his hair falling into his face. Remy reached out to brush it back.

Jake twisted away, lifting hands that were suddenly growing claws defensively, before he opened his eyes and met Remy's surprised look. The claws shrank until Jake's nails looked as elegantly manicured as ever.

"Told you," Jake said after a moment. For once he wasn't meeting Remy's gaze, instead he was focusing on the ceiling. "Most people aren't afraid of me." 

"Maybe they should be, neh?" But Remy found that he was less wary, even having seen how fast Jake could react. 

That made Jake look at him again. "Maybe," he agreed, and gave Remy a small, real smile. “I’m not a fighter, though.”

“Good at running?” Remy suggested, based on what he’d seen.

“And ducking,” Jake agreed. “I’m good at ducking too.”

“Both good skills to have.”

“They’ve served me well so far.”

“I could probably learn a thing or two from you about that,” Remy muttered. Jake gave him a puzzled look, and Remy shrugged. “I stopped to fight. When they grabbed me. Didn’t do any good, obviously. I should’ve just ran.” 

“You wanna... talk about it?” 

“You wanna talk about those claws of yours?”

“Definitely not.”

“Want to play Go Fish?” Remy suggested, after half an hour of listening to Jake failing to fall asleep.

Jake sat up. “God, yes. But no cheating this time,” he added sternly. 

“Told you I don’t cheat. You’re just really bad a card games.” 

“Hmph.” Jake’s eyes were lit up and interested. His hair was messy, much messier than Remy had seen it be during daytime. He pushed the sheet down around his waist, shifting to give Remy room to join him on the bed, and Remy realized he’d be happy to join Jake on the bed for things much less platonic. He fumbled the shuffle a little at the realisation. Not so much because Jake was a man, he’d been there before, but because he hadn’t expected feeling any kind of attraction for anybody any time soon. 

"Hey, don’t zone out on me now. It’s your turn," Jake said. Remy blinked and focused on the cards he'd just been dealt.

*

After four days in the hotel room Remy woke up to find Jake studying him thoughtfully. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," Remy said automatically, and was surprised to realise that it was the truth.

Jake gave him a skeptical look. "Really? Because I think it's time we got moving, but not if you're going to pass out on me." 

Remy frowned back. "Won't pass out. I'm good, me." 

"Hm. All right. I'll get us a car, you think about where you want to go." 

“Where I want to go?” Remy repeated, surprised.

Jake blinked back at him. “Well, yeah. That’s. Didn’t I say? I’m supposed to make sure you get wherever you want to go. That’s why I’m still here.”

“No, you didn’t say.” Remy had assumed Jake was waiting for Remy to get better so he could do a job for him.

“Well, I am. So where do you wanna go? I recommend Seattle. Very peaceful city. Or Sydney. Sydney is nice.” 

He didn’t need to think about it. “New Orleans. I want to go home.”

"New Orleans," Jake repeated. "Are you sure? Isn't that where they grabbed you?" 

"I'll be ready now," Remy said. 

The skeptical look was back.

“I can take care of myself,” Remy sighed. “I’ve been doing it for a while now. And now I know shady military people abducting me is a real danger...” He charged a three of clubs and let it explode close to Jake’s face. Jake flinched back. “I’m not defenseless.” 

He held his breath, worried he’d gone a little too far. But no, once Jake realised he wasn’t injured, he gave Remy a crooked smile. “So that’s what you do.”

“That’s what I do.” Remy started breathing again.

“All right. I still think that Seattle - or outer Mongolia - would be a better choice, but all right. Let’s go to New Orleans.”

*

He took off when they stopped at a gas station and Jake left him in the car to go buy something. 

He was not at all surprised when he woke up a day later in a motel in the middle of nowhere and found Jake sitting in a chair, giving him a reproachful look while he peeled an orange. 

Well, he was a little surprised he hadn’t woken up when Jake entered, but that just proved that he was far away from being 100% fine. “‘Morning,” he croaked out. 

“Please don’t do that again,” Jake requested. 

Remy rubbed his eyes. “Is there anywhere I could go where you wouldn’t find me?”

“No.”

The fucked up thing was that it made Remy feel calmer. The matter of fact way Jake spoke, and the way he’d just tracked Remy down, it made him feel almost... safe. Like Stryker couldn’t have him mysteriously disappeared again, because someone would find him. Someone would know he was gone.

But it wasn’t personal, not for Jake. Remy knew that. He was just a package Jake had been paid to get from one place to somewhere else. It wasn’t even a question of accepting it. It was just a fact, how it was. It didn’t make a difference to how he felt.

* 

There was a circus in town.

Jake parked by the side of the road, and they sat there for a moment, watching the organized chaos of a circus ground being staged. 

“I hate clowns,” Jake said. 

“I like elephants,” Remy replied.

Jake contemplated this while he rummaged through the back seat for the food they’d bought earlier. “Elephants are okay, I guess.” 

“Can we... There’s a picnic table over there.” Remy pointed. “It’s a nice day,” he added, cajoling. 

“Yeah, all right.”

There are a pair of kids practising archery down the hill from where the picnic table is. One of them, the bigger kid, took off as soon as he spotted Jake and Remy, but the smaller one remained, too caught up in his bow to notice.

Remy watched him while eating his sandwich. Jake was keeping a suspicious eye out for any wild clowns that might wander their way. “There’s just something _wrong_ about clowns, with their make up and their shoes and those ridiculous noses, and you can’t convince me otherwise.”

“Wouldn’t dream of trying.”

The kid fired his last arrow and turned around triumphantly. “Hey, Barney, did you see that? I-” he cut himself off. “Who are you?”

“No one,” Remy said easily. “We’re just passin’ through, _petit_.” 

The kid held his bow tightly, as though he was afraid Remy would come and take it away from him. He looked wary and cautious in a way Remy recognized. He couldn’t be more than seven or eight, and he already knew the world could be an unfriendly place.

Remy nodded towards the target. “Good shooting there. Are you with the circus?”

“Barney and me help out,” he replied, sticking his jaw out stubbornly. “I’m not a lazy kid.”

“No, I can tell,” Remy said. Jake had his back to the kid, but he had stopped muttering about clowns, and tilted his head back a little, regarding Remy thoughtfully. 

“I might get to be in a show too,” the kid said after a moment. 

“What, playing Robin Hood?” 

The kid gave him a disgusted look, and Remy had to suppress a grin. “No.” The _stupid_ at the end was silent but utterly clear. “I’ll be in the knife throwing act maybe, or helping Ariana with the elephants. Don’t know yet.”

“Sounds exciting.” 

“Ariana is nice,” the kid said. “She doesn’t care if I-- She’s nice.”

“I’m sure she is,” Remy agreed. 

Jake sat up straight. “And that’s probably her,” he said, voice low. Remy turned his head and saw a woman with hair striped like a candy cane walking hurriedly towards them. 

“Clint Barton, you get your ass over here right now,” she yelled. 

The kid jumped, eyes widening, and then he was rushing up the hill, tripping at the top. Remy would’ve jumped off the table and gone to assist, but Jake placed a hand on his thigh in warning and he didn’t move. The kid got back on his feet, and was busy wiping dirt off his bow when the woman reached them. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” she said, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him a little. “You know you’re not supposed to run off on your own.” She glared at Remy and Jake as she spoke. Remy tried to look as harmless as he possibly could. 

“I wasn’t alone,” the kid protested. “And Buck says I have to practise a lot if I’m going to be any good.”

“Buck,” she said darkly. “I should have known.”

“Don’t be mad, Ariana.” The kid turned some serious puppy-dog eyes on her. Next to Remy, Jake snorted and looked away. Ariana glared at him again. They both kept their mouths shut until both the woman and the kid were back on the circus grounds. 

Jake patted Remy’s thigh as he got up and stretched. “So, ever wanted to run away and join the circus?”

“Non.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

* 

“I’m twenty-two,” Jake said, faintly puzzled. “Why?” He squinted at the car mirror, pulling it down quickly. “I’m not looking like a teenager again, am I?”

“No,” Remy assured him. “I’m twenty-three, by the way,” he added. 

“Yes, I know.” Jake still looked puzzled. 

Remy found himself wondering if Jake really _was_ twenty-two or if he just thought it would make him seem more approachable, that Remy would be more inclined to trust someone his own age. 

It wasn’t fair, the way he was doubting everything Jake said, he knew that. As far as he knew Jake hadn’t outright lied to him yet. Whenever Remy asked a question he didn’t want to answer (such as: “who’s paying you to do this?”) he either ignored the question and started talking about something else, or he said he couldn’t answer that. Remy couldn’t help it though.

At the moment his trust issues seemed reasonable. And Jake didn’t seem to notice or care about the occasional suspicious looks. Maybe they seemed reasonable to him as well.

A couple of miles down the road, Jake squinted at him. “Was that your way of asking if we can go buy alcohol? Because we can do that. ...Actually, I’ve been doing that since I was fourteen, it’s just that my IDs are better now.”

“No, but I won’t say no to a beer.”

Jake turned off the main road at the next town they came across. “I think this is a ‘we don’t have a horse because we shot it and ate it for dinner’ town,” he commented as they drove down the main street. “We are so not staying.”

“You’ll get no objections from me,” Remy assured him, adjusting his sunglasses, making sure they hid his eyes, just in case anything should happen. 

Nothing did. They got a lot of suspicious looks, but that was all. 

They continued on until Remy spotted a motel by the side of the road. Jake got them a room. Remy carried the beer and his duffel bag inside, nearly walking straight into Jake who’d stopped dead once he’d seen the interior decoration. Remy shuffled around him, putting the beer and the bag down. 

Jake turned to stare at him. “I have no words. No, I lie. I have one.”

“It’s very... orange,” he said. The wallpaper consisted of muddy yellow, orange and brown squares, the armchairs were a different shade of orange, and the bedspread was a shade of orange Remy was willing to bet had never been seen in nature. The only things that had escaped the orange-ing were a small black table placed between the chairs and the small carpet, which was appallingly pea soup green instead.

“That’s the word.” Jake held his hand out for a beer. “I’m going to have to start drinking just to numb the pain of having to stay here.” 

Remy tossed him a bottle. He opened his own, before passing the bottle opener on, taking a sip as he did. “We could keep going?” he suggested. “The next place can’t possibly be as... this.”

Pointing at him with his bottle, Jake shook his head. “While it pains me to admit it, yes, yes, it can. It could even be _worse_. And I promised you beer, so. I’ll just have to drink until it doesn’t bother me anymore.”

“I’m not sure there’s enough beer in the world for that.”

“I can try.” Jake emptied the bottle in a show of determination. 

*

Jake got cuddly when he was drunk. Not that he was stand-off-ish normally, but he was careful. Remy hadn’t noticed how much until now when he was not. He kept touching Remy’s arm to get his attention, and petting his hair absently. Remy wasn’t entirely sure how he felt. He liked being touched, always had, but. But it was different now. 

It helped that Jake kept talking, rambling really, about anything and everything. Jake knew a lot of both. 

Maybe Remy would relax more if he drank more, but he couldn’t. He was pleasantly tipsy, and that was frightening enough, even though he knew where he was, who he was with and what he was doing. 

When later a nightmare woke him, Jake reached over, not touching, just absently patting the bed near Remy, and mumbling something that sounded like “‘s okay, I’m here, go back to sleep.” 

Remy did.

*

"Can you try not flirting with every waitress we have?" Jake said. He looked pretty pleased with the extra pot of coffee though. 

Remy considered it. "No," he decided finally. He didn't want to. It was fun, and harmless, and since they were always just going through town, no expectations of a follow through. 

"Oh well." 

Remy laughed for the first time in a very long time at the expression of mock exasperation. Jake smiled back, a little bemused. Leaning back in his chair, Remy grinned. "You think we'll go far today?"

Jake shrugged. "We'll keep driving as long as you want. As long as you don't fall over, you can set the pace." 

"What happens when we get to New Orleans?" 

Jake shrugged again. "I'll make sure you're reasonably safe and then leave, probably." 

"Leave?" Remy somehow hadn't expected that, though he probably should have. He realised that he’d started to rely on Jake being a very unlikely looking bodyguard, someone who’d be there to keep him safe, both from Stryker and from nightmares. Which was stupid, obviously. Remy knew that. Jake was just a courier. He didn’t even look particularly scary. If anything he looked like he ought to be having starring roles in romantic comedies.

Jake raised his eyebrows at him. "You don't sound quite as overjoyed as I thought you would." 

"No, I am. I am." Remy was, he really was. But... "You're not so bad, you." 

"You're not so bad yourself," Jake said, clearly amused. 

It seemed to be Jake’s default reaction to most of what Remy did. He’d take it personally, except it didn’t seem like Jake meant it in a mocking way. Mostly he seemed fond. Remy had no idea how to react to that.

* 

As he got better, his temper came back as well. This wasn't as much of a problem as Remy had thought. Remy snapping at him seemed to roll right off Jake. Jake took that as a sign that he could bitch back though, and the first time he did, Remy found himself caught in a humiliating flight or fight response that ended with freezing on the spot. 

"Do I look like a fucking babysitter to you? Because I’m _not_ ," Jake said crabbily as he dropped the car keys on the nearest flat surface after coming back from a check-in call to his boss. The keys were quickly followed by his trench coat being impatiently thrown, and then he turned around, already gesturing in frustration. "I don't know what the fuck he expects from me, anyway. I courier shit, and try to not get killed by clients - which is harder than you'd think, maybe it's time to reconsider our client base, I should talk to dad about that - I don't usually chaperon broken pretty boy mutants around the country! I get in, I get out! There is no lingering and..." he trailed off, eyes narrowing. 

Remy managed a vague nod, hoping that Jake hadn't noticed anything unusual. 

"Breathe," Jake suggested, killing that tiny hope. He gave Remy's hands a pointed look, and Remy realised that he'd clamped them tightly around the chair's armrests. "Try not to blow up the room. It's really hard to stay incognito when there's property damage around. Don't ask me how I know." 

"I'm not..." Remy cleared his throat and tried again, louder this time. "I wasn't going to." 

"Uh-huh." Jake had stopped gesturing. He regarded Remy awkwardly. "I didn't mean it." 

"Which part?" 

Jake blinked. "Um. Most of it? I don't actually mind this whole road trip thing so much. It's very Jack Kerouac. In a way." 

"You're into the whole beats thing?" It didn't fit with Remy's impression of him, somehow. 

Jake shrugged. "Some of it? I like to read stuff that have absolutely nothing to do with my work. I read a lot of romance novels," he added, smirking a little. 

"Not very useful that," Remy agreed. He folded his arms over his chest in an attempt to keep himself from reacting to Jake's bitching again. He could tell by the tight set of Jake's shoulders and the jerky movements that Jake was still pissed, even as he was chatting with Remy about literature of all things. "I like Dumas?" he offered in an attempt to keep Jake talking.

"You read?" Jake gave him a surprised look, and then he winced. "Sorry, that was... Of course you do. Maybe I should just." He waved a hand vaguely. "Go for a walk, and, not talk."

God, no. Being left alone in a shitty motel room right now was not tempting. " _The Count of Monte Cristo_ is my favorite," he blurted out. "I used to read it when I was a kid." It made Jake halt his step towards his trench coat and look over at him again. "Most of the books at the orphanage were stupid, or Nancy Drew books, but this one wasn't and nobody else wanted to read it, so it was always available. I used to hide in the ceiling over the laundry room and read." Jake was staring at him now. Remy didn't blame him. "Nobody ever found me there," he finished awkwardly, holding his breath. 

"I always liked _The Three Musketeers_ ," Jake said after a moment, and Remy could breathe again. 

*

Remy didn’t consider himself a kind man. He couldn’t afford to be. He wasn’t intentionally cruel, not that, but he looked after himself first and foremost. It wasn’t like there were anybody else who would.

But Jake, he was careless in his kindness. 

He said Remy was work, but he didn’t treat Remy as though he was. Instead he did things like pause for half a day in a small town and drag Remy to see _National Lampoon’s Animal House_ , grabbing enough soda and popcorn to feed a small army. “What?” he said at Remy’s expression. “I like popcorn! It’s not really going to the movies without a whole lot popcorn.”

“No, I can see that,” Remy said dryly, accepting the soda he was handed. 

“Shut up and enjoy the film.”

He asked for Remy’s opinions on everything from breakfast to international politics. Generally he then proceeded to tell him about all the ways his opinions were wrong, wrong, so very wrong, but at least he was interested enough to ask in the first place, and he expected Remy to have opinions about almost everything he himself had opinions about. Jake had a lot of opinions. 

When they stopped in a town that was just about big enough to have a bookstore, Jake left Remy eating pancakes, telling him sternly not to run away, and came back ten minutes later, looking very pleased with himself. “Here,” he said, and placed a stack of books on the table. “Just, you know, in case you get bored.” 

Remy raised his eyebrows at him, swallowed the last piece of pancake, and, once Jake was leaning against the window with a cup of coffee in one hand and a copy of _Right Ho, Jeeves_ in the other, pulled the stack towards him. 

There weren’t as many books as it has seemed like at first. They were just... massive. He sorted through them, curious to find out what Jake thought Remy might enjoy. The two Dumas books weren’t a surprise, nor was the copy of _The Odyssey_. The James A. Michener and Jacqueline Susann books made him blink however. He blinked again when Jake glanced up from his book and said, “Oh those are mine. You can read them if you want, though.” 

“Thanks, but I think I have to decline on principle.” 

Jake grinned at him. He put his coffee down to poke at the stack, shifting the books until he found what he was looking for. It was a thick book with peacock feathers on. “That one’s for you too. I figured, you know, Southerner...” He shrugged. 

“Flannery O’Connor?” Remy said, surprised. He picked it up, flipping through it. He’d read some of the short stories before, but by all means not all. 

There was a fond look in Jake’s eyes when Remy glanced up. He smiled uncertainly, not sure how to interpret that. “ _Merci_ ,” he said. 

Jake ducked his head, small smile lurking at the corner of his lips, as he focused on his book again. “You’re welcome.” 

Remy thought it was careless, because Jake obviously didn’t consider what he did anything special. These were things he could do, and so he did them. 

It was a little like having a friend. A new friend, maybe, one where they didn’t know everything about each other yet, but they knew enough to be friends. It had been a long time since Remy had trusted anybody enough to categorize them as “friend” rather than “some guy I know”, never mind anybody trusting him back. 

Maybe trust was the wrong word for this. Maybe just interest was a better one. Jake was definitely interesting, Remy couldn’t deny that.

*

Remy was perfectly aware that Jake was making detours and pausing far too long in places. If they’d driven in a straight line, without breaks, they’d be in New Orleans by now. Days ago, probably.

He just couldn’t figure out why.

Jake would bitch about not being a babysitter one moment, and the next he was making a hard left turn because of the Fall Festival of Fucking Nowhere. It made no sense. 

Unless Jake’s statements of random cravings that could only be satisfied by fall festivals/newly released movies/Kentucky’s oldest synagogue/underground waterfalls/Aunt Elizabeth’s House of Teapots counted as an explanation -- and as Remy was getting to know Jake, he wasn’t entirely sure it didn’t -- there wasn’t one.

“That’s a teapot in the shape of a jukebox,” Remy said. He was trying not to judge, but. It was a teapot in the shape of a jukebox. It was hard not to.

“Oh is it? Oooh.” Jake picked it up carefully. “I wonder if it makes noise.” He turned it this way and then and laughed delightedly when he got it to play some tinkly music that might or might not be Rock Around the Clock.

“You’re not actually buying this, are you? I’m not sure I can in good conscience allow you to spend money on this.”

Jake held the jukebox teapot protectively against his chest. “You’re just jealous of my awesome taste in teapots.”

Remy stared at him, then down at the shopping basket he was carrying, which featured such horrors of teapottery as a wash basin teapot, a magician’s hat teapot, the world’s creepiest toad teapot and one shaped like a pineapple. Remy was never admitting to kind of liking that one. “You think so?” 

Jake frowned. 

“I mean, you can buy what you want, but me, I wouldn’t be surprised if the toad came to life and ate us while we’re driving.” Remy paused. “I think I may have met someone who has the powers to do that.”

“Animate murderous teapots? That’s an oddly specific power.” Jake did put the toad back on the shelf though. After what appeared to be some serious consideration, he also set the wash basin and the jukebox back in their spots. “I can always buy them later,” he said, and Remy shuddered. 

“Do you even drink tea?” 

“What does that have to do with anything?” 

“You don’t, do you.”

Jake looked shifty. 

“You might be the strangest man I’ve ever met.” Remy wasn’t sure, but he thought he might have meant it as a compliment. Judging by the grin, Jake seemed to take it as one.

*

They did eventually get closer to New Orleans though. Remy felt himself relaxing as the voices around them slowly segued into talking in a patois he recognized. Jake, on the other hand, started looking baffled every time he had to converse with people. Some of it was probably exaggerated for Remy’s benefit once Jake realized that Remy found it amusing, but some of it was genuinely Jake being confused.

They were about four hours away from New Orleans, and Remy kept stalling. He knew he was doing it, Jake obviously knew he was doing it, and it was stupid, but. 

New Orleans was his city, but it wasn’t safe anymore.

He wanted to go home. No question about that. But, maybe not today.

He was going to miss the way Jake’s eyes narrowed when he laughed. Jake almost always seemed mildly amused, but when he found something truly funny, Remy couldn’t take his eyes off him. 

The last day he kept trying to find things that would make Jake laugh. Jake caught on to it sooner than Remy had expected, giving him a confused frown, but he must have seen something in Remy’s expression that made him nod slightly and not say anything, instead choosing to bitch about his food ordering skills. 

“I get along fine in Japan,” Jake complained, poking his food. “Why can’t I figure this out?”

“Well, for one thing, I don’t think there are university classes in How To Order Food In Louisiana,” Remy pointed out. He had no intention of letting Jake know that the food on the cafe menu was idiosyncratically locally named, and Remy actually had no more of a clue what he’d ordered than Jake had.

“Hmph. Well, maybe there should be.” Jake blinked. “Hey, this is good!”

The waitress raised an eyebrow as she walked past them. She had a bright red flower in her curly black hair, and the shade made him think of Belladonna. He hadn’t thought of Belle in months.

After a slight hesitation, Remy smiled disarmingly up at her. “I just can’t take him anywhere. Terrible manners. I, on the other hand, can properly appreciate the good things in life.” 

She smiled back, shaking her head a little, before continuing towards the next table. 

Jake ignored both of them in favour of his food. He had nothing in common with Belle, the mere idea of it was ridiculous. Where Belle was all edges and sharpness, Jake was soft, deliberately fading into the background. Belle would charge and punch you in the face, Jake would duck and run. Belle was poised like a ballerina, Jake slouched like a teenager. But, they were both extremely confident to the point of arrogance, they were both, as far as Remy could tell, highly skilled in their professions, and, Jake had a way of looking at him that Remy recognized from when he was a child. Belle had looked at him like that, like he was worth something. Not because of what he could do, or because of how he looked, but just because he was Remy, and that was all they needed from him.

Remy distrusted it. It was seductive, of course it was, but it didn’t mean anything. Belle had grown up and left him behind, and Jake was going to leave him soon as well.

Remy tried not to think about that too much. Of course Jake would leave him. That had always been the plan. And it wasn’t as though Remy needed Jake. Remy could function quite well without him. He’d done so all his life. Why should this be any different? 

But it was. Somehow, it was.

He had enough self-insight to realise it was in part because Jake had rescued him from Stryker. He owed him his life. He couldn’t even begin to figure out how he was going to pay that back. 

It wasn’t just that though. Jake might bitch a lot, but it was hardly ever any serious intent behind it, and he was kind, in a careless way that even Remy at most suspicious couldn’t think of having a hidden motive. (Well, he could, but none of his scenarios made any kind of sense.)

Jake was undeniably physically attractive. Or, the shape he was currently in was. Black hair, bright blue eyes, wry grin. His hands were smaller than Remy’s own and mostly Jake’s touch was gentle, careful, friendly, but Remy remembered escaping, and Jake had pulled him along with a strong grip then. 

And he was now frowning at Remy because apparently Remy had zoned out staring at Jake’s hands. “Um, sorry,” he said, grabbing his fork to poke at his own food. “I was just, um, thinking.” 

“About what?” Jake asked after clearly dismissing a joke about Remy’s ability to think. 

“You, actually.”

Jake looked startled. “What?” 

“We’re gonna end up in New Orleans tomorrow.”

Jake narrowed his eyes, frowning again. “Yeah? So?”

“So I was wondering what you’d be doing next,” Remy said, carefully neutral. “Or if you’d stay a while. I could show you around, introduce you to a few people...” Remy might not have a lot of people he’d call friends, but he did know people. 

“What, you’re not tired of me yet?” Jake grinned. “Are you sure your power isn’t just superhuman tolerance?” 

Remy sighed at him. “Jake, come on.”

Jake finished his food before answering his question for real. “I can’t. I mean, a couple of days, maybe, I could probably swing that, but I’ve...” He hesitated, then shrugged. “I’ve taken longer than I should’ve already. Dad’s getting impatient.”

Remy wasn’t surprised, but he was disappointed. It would’ve been fun to show Jake New Orleans. He nodded. “Yeah, I get that.”

“The client doesn’t give a fuck though, which is kinda weird,” Jake continued, peering at his dessert. “I’m still not telling you who, but. I don’t think this is a bad thing, you know?” 

“I can take care of myself,” Remy said. “I realise you haven’t seen much proof of it, but honestly.”

“I’m not worried,” Jake denied and looked concerned. 

Remy leaned back, looking at Jake, who determinedly kept his eyes on his dessert. “...You could give me your number.”

Jake jerked his head up, blinking. There was something uncertain in his eyes when he looked at Remy. It was quickly covered up, but not until Remy had seen it. New Orleans had always been the end point for them. They had talked a lot over the last couple of weeks, but there had always been with the knowledge that this was temporary. Remy would get to New Orleans, and then they’d part ways and never speak again. 

“I’m not supposed to...” Jake started before trailing off. 

“You always do what you’re supposed to?” Remy already knew that the answer to that was mostly yes. But. Not all the time. Maybe not this time.

“I’ll think about it,” Jake said finally. He smiled. “I also think that you’ve been starved for human contact way too long, if you’re not dying to get rid of me after spending several weeks with me in a car.”

Remy shrugged. “It’s a nice car.”

Jake laughed.

* 

They found a motel at the edge of town -- not with an interior decoration scheme centered around the colour orange, which was surprising. Remy mostly didn’t care what his surroundings looked like, but Jake had made a face of disappointment with the world in general whenever they booked into a new place. Which didn’t mean this motel was nice, exactly.

"This is it?" Jake looked around with a doubtful expression. He did seem pretty out of place in the motel Remy had chosen. Remy, however, didn't, and that was the point. "I could get you an upgrade. To another hotel. Somewhere else. Actually in the city."

Remy shook his head. "This is fine. This is as good a place as any."

"It's really not," Jake disagreed.

“As good as anywhere else I’ve been staying,” Remy corrected himself.

Jake stared at an unidentifiable spot on the carpet, then looked around with an expression that clearly said he was reconsidering following Remy’s request to bring him to New Orleans, and then leaving him, courier assignment accomplished.

“It’s fine when it’s just me,” Remy said. And it was, at least for now. There was a bed, the door locked, the window was a good escape route if one was needed, and there was a small bathroom. He’d made due with less. If Jake would stay though...

“Your standards are way lower than mine.” Jake didn’t look at him when he said it, and then he smiled brightly and clapped his hands together. It was a show of enthusiasm Remy knew was faked, but it was still convincing. Jake was good at that. “So I guess this is where I wish you good luck with your future endeavours and I hope Infonet has provided you with a satisfactory courier service. I usually tell people to recommend us to their friends, but...”

Remy nodded. “Probably not a good idea,” he agreed. Maybe Infonet had enough power to withstand Stryker, but it was safer if they were never connected at all. 

“Not for either of us.”

They stared at each other.

Remy took a step forwards, and when Jake didn’t move, folded him into a hug. “ _Merci_ , Jake,” he said. He pressed his lips against Jake’s jaw briefly. “For, well. All of it.” He let Jake go again, stepping back, a little surprised by the lack of response. 

“You’re welcome. I’m glad it was you. I mean, that you got out of that place.” Jake bit his lip, met his eyes, and smiled hesitantly. “It’s okay if you change your mind once I’m gone, I won’t hold it against you. I understand that this has been... not normal, and once you’re back to being you again, you might not...” 

“Jake? You’re babbling.” 

“Right. Look, I.” He bit his lip again, dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a piece of paper with something written on it. He held it out for Remy to take. Remy did. It was a string of numbers and an address. “You asked,” Jake said, still tentative in a way he usually wasn’t. 

“I did,” Remy agreed, and he couldn’t help the broad smile. “And I’ll call you.”

Jake smiled back. “Awesome. The address is just in case you need to get away. I’m usually never home, but, if you need to get away from military goons, it should be safe.”

Remy nodded, already determined that that was never going to happen. 

“I really do have to go now, though.” Jake stepped towards the door. He grimaced. “Dad was yelling kind of loudly during that last check in, apparently I should be in Nepal yesterday. But, good luck, okay? And call me.” 

And then he was gone.

Remy dropped down on the bed, buried his head in his hands and sighed deeply.

Then he straightened, reminded himself that he was Remy fucking LeBeau, the best thief in New Orleans (non-Guild, at least), a fucking fantastic lover, gambler and con man. He was going to get back on his feet, and it was going to start today.

**Author's Note:**

> Links!  
> Remy's movie: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Wild_Angels  
> Jake's teapots: [Jukebox](http://www.teapottery.co.uk/Limited_Edition_Teapots_2/Jukebox_Teapot_14.htm), [Frog](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000LKHE94?ie=UTF8&tag=tioufomo-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B000LKHE94) and [Pineapple](http://www.jmcutlery.com/images/Pineapple-Tea-Set18016.jpg).


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